


And So, A New Life Begins...

by Telaryn



Series: The Hero and The Bad Boy [27]
Category: Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Awkward Conversations, Boys Kissing, Ending Relationship, Established Relationship, Forgiveness, Gen, Goodbyes, M/M, Moving On, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:52:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint makes his decision, and everybody tries to figure out how they want to move forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And So, A New Life Begins...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kastron (decidueye)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidueye/gifts).



> I kind of can't believe we're here - this is *definitely* not the ride I planned when I wrote "Exercising Restraint" over a year ago. I am overwhelmed by everybody that's signed onto this journey with me, and the incredible outpouring of support as we near the end. You guys are so generous and so wonderful and right now I love you all.
> 
> I firmly believe somewhere down the line I will write more stories with this pairing and this 'verse, but the story of Clint and Quinn falling in love and overcoming all odds to be together is done. I hope I did them justice in the end.

Three days into his voluntary commitment Clint Barton had figured out one very important truth: a little self-awareness went a very long way. Post-traumatic stress disorder, abandonment issues, mommy issues, daddy issues, disinhibited attachment disorder, control issues, anger management issues and just enough OCD to keep everybody from getting bored. “Can’t we just say I’m terminally fucked up and move on?” he asked his Wednesday doctor during their afternoon session.

“It’s a short term solution,” the man said, smiling slightly, “although I’m impressed with how well it seems to have served you so far.” He glanced down at Clint’s file. “Can you tell me why Dr. Margolis has such a strongly worded prohibition in your file against you being properly medicated?”

Clint chuckled. “I have a bad history with mind altering drugs. The doc and I have a deal – as long as I meet the minimum standard for ‘functional’, she doesn’t insist that I take things that bad people have used on me in the past so they can do very bad things.”

It took the staff another few days – and Clint suspected one or two phone consults with Dr. Margolis – before they stopped pushing the idea of medicating him. It wasn’t that he objected to the concept of the pills in theory, he just wasn’t ready to embrace them as a solution to his particular problems.

Time not spent talking to doctors was spent largely by himself, thinking over his life, his situation and what he wanted to do. “It’s crazy – I go my entire life being left behind by people I care about, and now I’ve got these two amazing guys wanting to spend the rest of their lives with me.”

“Why do you think that is?” His doctor on this particular afternoon was one of his favorites – a quiet, reserved older man that actually reminded him a bit of Coulson. “You describe yourself as ‘broken’; do you think they’re just looking to put you back together in some way?”

It was a fair question, especially where Quinn was concerned. “He wants me to fix myself,” Clint was finally able to verbalize after days of puzzling over the question. “He was so pissed when he found out I’d been lying to my SHIELD therapist. Told me that us being together wasn’t worth risking my recovery.”

Which – of course – got them back into the whole question of why he’d been in work-ordered therapy to begin with. Clint was as honest as he could be with his answers – getting defensive at this stage was only going to distract everybody from what he was trying to figure out. Once his doctors were convinced that he wasn’t suffering from some demented form of Stockholm Syndrome, talk turned to Coulson, and the role he played in Clint’s life.

“He saved me.” The answer came easy and without any hesitation at all. “He was the first handler I had who believed that SHIELD could adjust for me instead of me doing all the compromising. He _always_ had my back, and whenever I was hurt or captured I knew I could count on him moving heaven and earth to bring me home.”

They went on to discuss how Clint had done more than his share of trying to push Coulson away, and the fact that his handler wouldn’t yield – wouldn’t abandon him no matter how much of an ass he tried to be – had only deepened his feelings for the man. “He never let me go so far that I couldn’t come back though,” he made sure to qualify. The old him had assumed Coulson wasn’t bothering trying to discipline him; something that had failed spectacularly with his earlier handlers.

Now he could recognize that Coulson’s discipline had been far more subtle, and all the more effective for it. “I think he was only really mad with me when I brought Natasha home,” he concluded after one particularly in depth session. “And I think that was more out of fear of what it would do to my standing in SHIELD.”

For the first time in his life he laid everything out and studied it over without any distractions, and he didn’t entirely hate what he saw. Unfortunately the lack of any obvious down-side to being with either man meant that as days and weeks passed he was no closer to a decision.

The break-through he was looking for didn’t come until deep into his third week, when his Wednesday doctor asked him, “Can you see yourself ever returning to SHIELD?”

“No.” The answer, like so many he’d given, was immediate and definite. SHIELD had saved him once upon a time, given him a home and a purpose, but he’d grown past that. The Avengers was where he belonged now – anything else would be a step backwards.

Then came the follow-up question: “Can you see Phil Coulson ever leaving SHIELD?”

His answer this time was just as immediate and emphatic, but it had the unexpected benefit of twisting his thoughts in a completely new direction. Clint had always lived in the moment, never expecting that he would reach a point in his life where he could think in longer terms. Now that he was here, the world was looking very different indeed.

And he was finally starting to understand what he had to do.  
********************  
Coulson was limping. It was slight, but Clint felt a stab of guilt that he’d been so wrapped up in his own feelings and issues that he hadn’t noticed. “Thank you for coming.”

“I was glad to get your call.” Coulson’s smile was nevertheless uneasy. “Can I assume Natasha is okay with us meeting like this?” Clint had heard after the fact about the threats his partner had issued to keep both Quinn and Coulson in line. Chief among them had been the promise that if either of them sought Clint out without his express invitation she would have something unpleasant to say about it.

“I called you, didn’t I?” he pointed out as they took their seats. “Can I get you something to drink?” Clint knew he was cheating by asking for this talk in a public place, and had tried to soften it by choosing his former handler’s favorite coffee shop.

Glancing up at the menu posted overhead, Coulson nodded. “The usual?” Clint asked, before he could say anything further.

That got him a smile. “Please. Decaf though.”

It was a subtle change to the way things used to be, but it still hurt. Clint paused. “You know, I never thanked you for saving Quinn’s life. I know what it cost you.”

Coulson looked uncomfortable. “I know what it would have cost both of us if I hadn’t.”

There was nothing Clint could say to that, so he didn’t even try. When he returned to the table several minutes later, drinks in hand, Coulson was checking his smart phone. He set it aside immediately, accepting his drink with a nod of thanks.

“You look good,” he said, as Clint resumed his seat. “Whatever you’ve been doing these last several weeks really agrees with you.”

Clint laughed, toying with the rim of his cup. “Let’s face it – when they talk about head shrinking, I have a lot that could do with making smaller.” He took a sip of his drink and winced as the still-too-hot liquid hit his tongue. “Damn. No, it was good. I got a lot sorted out and I feel like I made the right decision…by signing myself in.”

Everywhere he looked, Clint realized he was on top of the very conversation they needed to have, and now they were here, he couldn’t stop wishing that they had more time. _There’s no way this isn’t going to hurt,_ he reminded himself. _Just get it over with._

Almost as if he’d read Clint’s mind Coulson said mildly, “You know, this isn’t fair. The least you could do is show up here looking like it was a hard decision for you.”

Clint felt something wrench painfully in his chest as reality came crashing in on top of him. _So much for speeches._ This had all gone so much smoother in the hundreds of times he’d had the conversation in his own head.

“There’s nothing fair about any of this,” he said quietly, his eyes aching with the sudden threat of tears. “I love you both so much, and I don’t deserve either of you.” He saw Coulson’s hand twitch, sensed the older man’s desire to reach out and comfort _him_.

Phil’s iron-clad control won out in the end. “You don’t have to say it,” he said quietly, bowing his head. “Seriously Clint – please don’t say it. It hurts bad enough just knowing.”

Acting on pure impulse, Clint reached across the table and covered Coulson’s joined hands with his own. He felt the other man tense, start to pull away, and then heard the quiet exhale of breath as Coulson forced himself to relax. “Phil. Please look at me.”

It took Coulson several moments; when he was finally able to meet Clint’s gaze, his eyes were over-bright, full of more emotion than Clint knew his former handler was comfortable showing in public. “You will never be anything but perfect to me,” he said, squeezing Coulson’s hands. “And once upon a time that would have been enough. But…” He swallowed hard against the lump squeezing all the air out of his throat. “…we both deserve to be with people who can see us for who we are and love us anyway.”

Coulson’s answering laugh was soft and bitter. “I do know you, Barton. Warts and all, and I can’t imagine sharing my life with anyone _but_ you.” A single tear spilled down his cheek.

“Boss, you don’t know me,” Clint said, pressing forward. “You know who I used to be, and believe me when I say it has been one fucked up year.”

Coulson exhaled softly. “You’re saying I should have contacted you sooner – as soon as they knew I was going to live.”

Clint shrugged. “You said it – I didn’t. Phil, you have no idea how much I wish it was different. You were right – we were robbed. But the stuff Loki and Fury and our own stupid long list of bad choices took from us isn’t the kind of thing you can get back.”

Coulson’s eyes flooded with pain. “If I thought that, I never would have woken up. You were the first thing I thought of when I came out of the coma Clint,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Getting back to you has been my highest priority every moment since.”

Heart breaking, Clint licked his lips – choosing his next words as carefully as he ever had. “Do you want to guilt me into being with you, Phil?” he asked quietly. “You can, you know – it wouldn’t even be hard.”

Coulson’s eyes widened with horror, as though Clint had struck him. “No – no…dammit, that’s not what I mean.” Their eyes met, and Clint felt his doubts starting to rise again. But before he could say anything, the older man raised their joined hands and pressed a kiss to Clint’s knuckles. “I want you to be happy, Clint. Right or wrong, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“You just wish it could be with you.”

Now Coulson’s smile was soft and wistful. “You said it – I didn’t.”  
************************  
Conversation had normalized somewhat by the time they finished their drinks. Clint’s observation that he’d changed a lot in the last year had resonated deeply with Coulson, and while he still had the archer’s attention he found that he wanted to change that as much as possible. “You’re really taking to the hero thing,” he said as they left the coffee shop together. “It’s a good look for you.”

“I had a good teacher,” Clint began, then stopped and glanced worriedly at Coulson.

Phil was pleasantly surprised when a smile and a quip came naturally to hand. “You may not be my asset anymore Clint Barton, but I plan on claiming as much credit for Hawkeye the Avenger as you let me get away with.”

It was the right answer; the tension in Clint’s shoulders eased almost immediately. “You’re entitled to as much of it as you want to claim, boss.”

They parted with a hug, and Coulson congratulated himself on keeping his cool as he watched Clint walk away. He had to give Barton credit – for a break-up talk, it had gone much more smoothly than he would have expected. Clint had largely been sure of himself, and he’d been extremely aware of Coulson’s feelings. Phil knew he would always be grateful Clint had spared him hearing some variation on the words “I chose the other guy”.

“I’m not plotting Natasha,” he said after a moment. “Even though it hurts, I’m doing what I should have done from the beginning and letting him go.” He turned to face Clint’s partner as she came up beside him. “He asked you to make sure I was okay, didn’t he?”

“Believe it or not no,” she said. “I’m not even sure he knows I’m here, although lately I’m realizing that underestimating him and what he does or doesn’t know is a bad thing.” She reached out and laid a hand on Coulson’s arm. “I’m here because I lost a friend about a year ago. I’d like to find out what happened and what he’s been doing all this time.”

Coulson ducked his head, barely suppressing a self-conscious smile. “He’s been pretty well making an ass out of himself, apparently.”

Natasha smiled back at him – her genuine smile, the one he saw very rarely. “I’d say you’re entitled to a few missteps under the circumstances. Can a former asset buy you dinner Agent Coulson?”

He thought for a long moment about refusing – there was a very large part of him that just wanted to crawl off and feel sorry for himself – but he hadn’t forgotten her words the night he’d confronted them all in Avengers Tower. He’d been obsessed with finding his way back to Clint, but other people in his life had apparently grieved his loss as well. And now that some of the fog was lifting from his thoughts and motivations he realized that he’d missed them too. Perhaps he _could_ do something besides mourn and brood…at least for a little while.

“I think I would like that very much, former Agent Romanoff,” he said finally – holding out his arm for her.  
**************************  
A soft rapping on his door drew Quinn’s attention from his paperwork; the sight of Clint standing in his office doorway, smiling at him, brought him to his feet. “What…what are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Depends on your definition of okay,” Clint said, leaning casually against the frame. Quinn swallowed hard, feeling a pleasant flutter of nerves low in his belly. Four weeks – four weeks of not ever really knowing what was on – and all he could think about was locking the door to his office and reacquainting himself with every inch of that body that he loved so much.

“I thought I made it clear that Avengers Tower was your home too.” Clint’s words brought Quinn back to the here and now. “I didn’t want you to leave.”

“Tasha had other ideas,” Quinn said, feeling his pulse rate jump as his brain caught up with what was going on and realized that if Clint was out, if he’d gone to the Tower already… “She didn’t want you pressured by having to ask me to leave yourself.”

Clint’s expression softened. “And what do you want, Jonah Quinn?”

Quinn laughed, and the sound was shaky and broken to his ears. “A whole bunch of things I’m not going to talk about right this second. What are you doing here, Clint?”

The archer shrugged. “Wanted to see you. Wanted to convince you to take me to dinner, and then back to whichever bed you’d like us to spend the first night of the rest of our lives in together?”

 _He’s already seen Coulson. Oh God._ Trembling now, Quinn said, “Clint, I’m going to need you to be very plain with me right now. What exactly are you saying?”

Smile widening, Clint closed the distance between them, coming around the desk and deep into Quinn’s personal space. “You heard me,” he said, reaching up and cupping the curve of Quinn’s jawline in his palm. “No more doubts, no more questions. Just you and me – for the rest of our lives if you’re up to it.”

His vision blurring with tears, Quinn leaned in and kissed Clint for all he was worth. “I’m in.” No doubts, no questions…

…yeah, he could sign on to that.


End file.
